“How’d it happen?” I asked my two partners.
“I asked Riley,” Marty nodded at the young person in the pew, “about the nightmares and whether they remembered being touched while walking around the city.”
I snorted at the immense challenge the question posed. Pinpointing one unexpected touch in any city, much less one with such a robust nighttime scene, would be virtually impossible. They could have been touched anywhere with deliberation, or like the man in the airport, by accident. “I can imagine how that went.”
Marty nodded, his lips a grim line. “About as well as you’d expect. The locust nightmare is one they’ve had all their lives, but two nights ago, it became more vivid than before.”
“Does that correlate to being out in crowds at all?”
“Only with a day of travel and their arrival in the city.” Marty shrugged. “How exactly are we supposed to track this thing, and if we find it—”
“When we find it,” I corrected.
“—what are we supposed to do with it?”
“Where’s…” I stopped. “Where’s Riley staying?”
“The Wyndham. About a block away from us.”
I nodded, thinking. The nightmare might be contained to the French Quarter, since all the disturbances had happened within its boundaries. Eight, maybe ten, blocks total.
“Are you going to answer me?” Marty asked, more out of exasperation than real frustration. He hadn’t turned pink or bug-eyed yet.
“I’m thinking.”
“Oh. That’s what I smell. I thought it was barbequed bugs,” he quipped.
I walked to the back of the church toward the rails of votives and stared down into the flickering candle flames. The solution felt close. As if the pieces were there, but not in the right order. Maybe some still upside down. As much as I’d learned about the nightmares, I didn’t have the full picture. But I still had Cooper and Madame Sabine.
I spun back to Marty and Father Callahan, who stopped their conversation in surprise. “I have an idea.”
10
The last time I knocked on Helen’s door, I hadn’t known she was the Norse goddess of the underworld, nor what job waited for me. Sister Betty and I still needed to discuss the way it all went down, especially about why the Vatican sent the mission directly and with restrictions. But, I’d fight that battle later.
This time, as I approached on the goddess’s door, I felt better prepared.
“Helen isn’t a nightmare, Cee, so how would she be connected to what we’re chasing?” Marty asked.
“I’m not sure she is, exactly, but—”
“Woah, woah, woah.” Sister Betty grabbed my arm just above my elbow, jerking me back before my knuckles made contact with the door. “We are not knocking on her door with some half-baked accusation—”
“I never said I was going to accuse her of anything,” I said and aimed a pointed look at Sister Betty’s fingers curled around my arm. “Mind?”
“Nope.” Sister Betty shook her head. “Not until you tell me whatever’s going on in that head of yours.”
Begrudgingly, I admitted she had a point. My recent plans hadn’t been as well scripted as she taught me. More than once, I’d violated her Scooby Doo rule by heading off alone to do things that might get me injured or killed. But, in my defense, I’d only done it when the risk of inaction outweighed the potential harm. “She’s a powerful supernatural creature—”
“Goddess,” Marty corrected.
“Right, goddess.”
“Of the underworld,” Marty continued, pointedly, “as in ‘dead,’ as in ‘how you could end up if you do something reckless or run off at the mouth.’”
“O-kay, I get it.” I rolled my eyes. “Can I finish now?”
He made a nonchalant gesture for me to continue. “Sure.”
“Without interruption?”
“Depends on what you say.”
“Knock it off.” Sister Betty’s scowl darkened with irritation. “Caitlin, get to the point.”
“Assuming Helen is due some degree of respect,” I said, “it would make sense that she would attend this Compact. Possibly even wield some authority, even if only ceremonial.”
“We don’t know that,” Sister Betty warned, though with hesitation.
“No, we don’t, but she’s powerful. Maybe enough to be considered to be a delegate. I mean, if the thing we’re chasing is, how could they exclude her?”
“Representing who?” Sister Betty asked.
I shrugged. “I haven’t figured that out yet. I’m just assuming she’s got,” I gestured with my free hand, looking for the word, “supernatural street cred, I guess.”
Sister Betty’s face relaxed some, and her grip slackened. “That makes sense. But it doesn’t tell me what you’re planning to do.”
“It’s not quite a plan.” I winced as her fingers squeezed my arm. “That hurts, you know.”
“We can’t alienate her,” Sister Betty warned.
“You’re assuming we have a partnership with her to begin with,” Marty said. “Or that her presence in the city isn’t part of her own agenda.”
My heart swelled, grateful he understood. “Exactly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her dealings in New Orleans have her returning regularly, making her a semi-permanent resident, right?” I said.
Sister Betty paused, as if trying to determine how much she should admit knowing. “Sure, we’ll say that.”
“And since you sent me to her for the Black Dog job and she took guardianship of the dog once I captured it, I’m assuming the Church knows about these dealings.”
“I wouldn’t say you captured it, but go on.” Sister Betty released me and crossed her arms.
“Well, what if she returned to New Orleans to attend the Compact and not in response to the Church’s request for help?” I risked a glance at Marty, hoping I played dumb well enough to protect his “research.”
“No,” Sister Betty said after a long pause. “We had to convince her to come back.”
Relieved she’d offered the information without revealing what Marty had already discovered, I pressed on. “But how hard was it to convince her?”
She thought, then put her hands on her hips, her fingers in her back pockets. “Not as difficult as working with other pantheon members,” she admitted.
Marty’s shoulders dropped, and he winked at me. Mischief managed, his secret database delving safe.
I watched Sister Betty hopefully, waiting for her to relent.
With an exasperated sigh, she said, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe she already had plans to be here, but that doesn’t mean she’s attending the Compact.”
“What else would it be?”
“Any number of things!” She threw her hands up. “We can’t assume we know anything about her business.”
“Until we go in, we know nothing. It’s a gamble, but we only have a couple days before it starts. That’s plenty of time for nightmares to tear this city apart.”
She rubbed her eyes. “I must be tired because this crazy plan makes sense.”
“We’re all tired,” I said, looking at Marty. With the discolored bruise on his head and the dark rings under his eyes, he looked worse than the rest of us. His weary nod only completed a dismal picture.
“Fine,” she said, “but be nice. Keep that tongue of yours in check.”
“That’s what she said,” Marty snickered.
Sister Betty swatted Marty as I stepped up to the door and knocked. Behind me, Marty feigned injury, and the two of them traded barbs. I took a deep breath and waited.
After a few minutes, Guillaume, Helen’s stately, silver-haired butler answered the door. He stood in the open doorway, gave us a quick glance up and down. “How may I help you?”
“Hi, Guillaume,” I said. “Could we speak with Helen, please?”
“The mistress isn’t accepting visitors today.”
I opened my mouth in anticipation of sa
ying thank you, then closed it. “I’m sorry?”
“Mistress Helen isn’t accepting visitors today.”
Great. Now I’d get crap from the peanut gallery for not calling. “This is kind of urgent. There’s something going on that’s beyond our purview, and her expertise—”
“I’m sorry, Miss Kelley. Good day.” He pushed the door closed, only to have it thump against my toe.
“I know this is rude, but I really must insist.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed, creating a spectacular starburst of wrinkles in the corner of each eye. “Yes, it’s exceedingly rude.”
“Please? This is for the good of the city, and maybe even our world. Tell her it’s about the Compact because I think she’ll agree to see us.”
His lips puckered in an angry knot, and I expected him to force the door closed despite my blocking foot. “Wait here,” he said finally, “and I will present your request.”
“Thank you,” I said, removing my foot.
He gave a brief bow then closed the door with a snap of the latch.
We waited, not speaking.
“He’s not coming back,” Marty said.
“Give it time,” Sister Betty said.
The three of us stood silent at the door, waiting. A few cars drove by, and between their passage, we listened to the distant sounds of music and voices.
“What do we do now?” Marty asked.
Before I could answer, I heard footsteps behind the door. A chill rushed through me. The gamble had worked. I tried to restrain my goofy, gleeful grin as the door opened.
Guillaume had recovered his cool, aloof professionalism. “This way, please.”
We followed him upstairs to the same parlor where we’d met Helen a few days before. This time, she wasn’t waiting for us.
“The mistress will be right with you,” Guillaume said, and although he remained professional, I caught the hint of a sneer.
Right. Noted. I pissed you off. And maybe Helen. This meeting would certainly go well.
“I hope this works, Cee.” Marty echoed my thoughts and fidgeted with his phone after Guillaume left the room.
Sister Betty sat in the overly delicate and probably expensive antique chair I’d loathed when I last visited. Neither the unnecessarily thin legs nor age of the piece phased her, though they’d tormented me into forced stillness. Maybe she weighed less. Or maybe, she sat still better than me. I sat beside her in a sturdier chair, free to wiggle as I questioned my own wisdom and hoped I could pull this off.
The air in the room seemed to shiver as the door opened and Helen walked in. Like some kind of Forties silver screen star, she wore a long satin dressing gown in the palest pink, trimmed in marabou. She didn’t deign to look at us until she settled in the wingback chair, surreptitiously covering her left leg and tucking her satin-gloved left hand under her right. Even around people who knew, she took pains to conceal the skeletal half of her body. I wondered how many living people had seen her without her camouflage.
“Helen—”
Her glare silenced me. In the stifling room, silence filled the space between us. I bit my lip and waited. She stared a moment longer, then glanced at each of us in turn.
Sister Betty cleared her throat only to receive the full heat of the Norse goddess’s stare. Instantly, my mentor reverted to the parochial student she must have been at one time. Sister Betty bowed her head, concentrating on her primly clasped hands.
The infantile silent treatment grated my nerves raw. When I couldn’t stand another second, Helen finally spoke. “I hope,” she said, “this visit ends more respectfully than it began.”
None of us said anything, but Sister Betty looked up, marginally less chastised than before. “On behalf of all of us,” she said, cautiously, “please allow me to apologize for the sudden intrusion.”
“I’m not interested in your groveling,” Helen snapped with cool indifference, her eyes fierce. “Instead of wasting my time, tell me why you’re here.”
I took a slow breath and reminded myself that we started this, that I led us into this mess. “We’ve learned about the Compact and wanted to know if you could help us gain access to it.”
Her delicately arched brow rose in undisguised shock. “Excuse me?”
“The Compact,” I said, “the gathering—”
“I know what the Compact is. Why do you want to attend? And why do you think I would help you?” Her clipped words conveyed irritation despite her deceptively relaxed pose. At least her demi-god brother, Fenrir, wasn’t growling at her feet.
“Well…” I swallowed hard and looked at Sister Betty.
“Given your contact with other realms and your experience—”
Helen laughed, her whole body shaking. “You have no one else to ask.”
I glanced at Sister Betty, then Marty. Both of them shrugged. “No, we don’t,” I said, finally. “You’re the most powerful being in New Orleans, and if anyone could pull a diplomatic string, it would be you.”
As her laughter abated, Helen dabbed the corner of her right eye, then the tissue disappeared under her hair to dab at the dead half of her face. “And why would I do that?”
“Because,” I said, “if we can’t stop the nightmares from causing chaos, there won’t be a city left.”
She raised her eyebrow and listened as I told her about the nightmares, including the locusts and other attacks we knew about. When I finished, she drummed her fingers on the chair. “You assume that I, as you humans say, give a shit.”
I recoiled, taken aback by her profanity. “I…well, yes. If your realm—”
“The underworld,” she corrected with disinterest.
“If the underworld,” I repeated, “is replenished by the death of humans and grows as they proliferate and die, maintaining the equilibrium of this world should be of paramount importance to you.”
Her face revealed no indication that she heard or considered my words. “Not only do you incorrectly assume my interest, you also incorrectly assume I can procure access to the Compact.”
“Your influence—”
“The hosting realm controls access.” She interrupted Sister Betty. “To gain access, seek the nightmare council.” She rose, finishing the graceful movement with a wave. “Good luck,” she added with a grin that would be mocking in any other context.
We watched her leave, Sister Betty’s jaw clenched, and Marty sat, silent.
The door latched with a click behind her.
Frustration welled within me, my muscles shaking as my fists clenched. I sprang from the chair and paced, whirling on Guillaume as he entered to usher us out.
The second we were outside, I looked around, wild, eager for something to punch, something to kick.
“Cee.” Marty gestured down the street. “This way.”
“No,” I said, rolling my neck, “I’m going for a walk or something.”
“We need to come up with a strategy,” Sister Betty said.
“How? We learned nothing! We’re back where we started, chasing spooks we don’t know how to deal with.” I paced the street. “I’ve got to burn off some energy.”
“Come back to the hotel. We’ll change, go for a run,” Sister Betty said. “There’s gym space in the cathedral basement with equipment and mats. We can train.”
If Helen wouldn’t help and we didn’t know where to find the nightmare, hiding in the cathedral basement wouldn’t dissipate the static buzzing under my skin. I needed to patrol, to hunt. At least in the streets, I had a chance to track it, find it, chase it down, and demand answers.
“We need to be smart,” she said, gently.
Despite my burning desire to run through the city, I gave a tight nod.
She held out her hand.
My anger melted as I stared at it. The problem I’d been ignoring reasserted itself. Even if I took her hand, it didn’t mean what I wanted it to mean. She cared, and I knew it. She might even be as attracted to me as I was to her, but…
&
nbsp; But.
Regardless what she thought, what she felt, and in spite of her jealousy when she asked about Officer Boudreaux, she’d never take it further. We had an intimacy more intense than anything I’d known. We casually held hands and hugged. The kisses we’d shared practically melted my panties, but that was it. She’d refuse to go further, despite the temptation. Her hand didn’t mean what I wanted, but here she was, offering the one thing we both knew I wanted.
An eternity stretched between heartbeats as I stared at her open palm with the tiny calluses at the base of each finger.
It wasn’t enough, but it was enough for now. The torture I put myself through to keep my friend and mentor had to be enough. For now.
I took her hand.
She pulled me into a tight hug, as if trying to squeeze the rage and frustration out of me. I tried to pull back, but she resisted, her heart pounding against me when I finally relented and hugged her back just as fiercely.
My Scarlet Witch might not have the power to warp my reality, but my god, she’d mastered manipulating my heart.
11
“Are you done?”
I answered with a grunt and kicked the bag harder, fighting the taunt in her words.
“No,” she said, pacing. “You twist when you kick like that and you’ll blow out your knee in the middle of a fight.”
I gritted my teeth, adjusted my form, and kicked again with more focus. My leg flew up and around, the reverberation of contact a familiar sensation. It felt better, connected the way I expected, but I refused to show satisfaction.
“Better. Again.” She circled me, checking every angle.
Sweat dripped in my eyes. I glared at the bag, imagining the nightmare, imagining taking down Helen for not giving a damn, and imagining kicking Cooper in the teeth for not telling us about the Compact in the first place. I kicked again, my muscles burning, a growl of effort accompanying the movement.
A Touch Too Much Page 8